Midnight on Shorts Lane.
The new car is parked snugly by a wall.
As soon as I turn the engine off I hear owls.
Not just one owl -
There seem to be several of them.
Night's timeless soundtrack.
No need for my fleece.
It is a warm night between two hot days.
The Buck Moon is rising
But still low as it climbs over Totley Moor.
It offers little illumination
As I walk along the valley of Blacka Brook
Under the arching trees
To the stepping stones.
Walking up to Lenny Hill
I can hear my own heart beat
Thumping in my head.
This is a route I have often plodded
But never before in the depths of night.
I have a little torch
For the pools of darkness.
There are tree roots and hollows.
I don't want to go tumbling down
Through the bracken.
Who would find me?
Da-dum-da-dum-da-dum goes my heart.
Up to the new bench on Lenny Hill
In memory of teacher Trish Brooks.
Breast cancer - that over-familiar marauder.
I sit and observe the stars
As my heart beat quietens.
Is that a satellite up there or an aeroplane?
What I am doing seems almost illicit.
Walking at night.
That's all.
I reach tarmac - Strawberry Lee Lane.
As anticipated, no need for the torch now.
Strolling along in the single headlight
That is The Buck Moon.
They say it was so named
Because by this time of year
Stags' antlers were fully grown.
The night air is delicious -
I breathe it in like honeysuckle.
Somewhere far away a dog is barking.
Soon I arrive once more at Totley Bents
"The Cricket Inn" is just a silhouette.
I hear voices by the cottages at Bents Farm.
A woman jumps in alarm
When she spots me.
They are care workers from foreign lands.
After putting an old lady to bed
They are getting in their little car.
Off to their next job.
I wonder if they have care workers
In Somalia and Sierra Leone?
After Avenue Farm I reach Redcar Brook
But there's no water at all
Just the rocks over which it is meant to burble.
A brambly briar attacks me
Causing a little blood.
Vengefully, I trample it down.
Under the trees, my silver torch is required again
I tread with trepidation.
Minutes later I am over the old stone stile.
Back on silent Shorts Lane
The Buck Moon floats like a balloon
Painting sheep pastures with its heavenly light.
Are we allowed to worship the moon any more?
At least it is real and majestic.
Our forebears looked up to the very same orb.
It's 1.22am and I am back at the car.
Then through the sleeping village of Dore
And back to our street - houses without lights.
The nightwalker is home again.
This brings back some good memories. As kids we played out side in the evening when it was dark and we didn't have a torch. Young eyes easily navigated the darkness.
ReplyDeleteBest under a full moon.
DeleteI encourage Moon worship, lol! Why are you walking at night?
ReplyDeleteI was walking at night because I wanted to!
DeleteA very lovely poem and photo. Where I live I wouldn't dare go night walking.
ReplyDeleteI would not call it a poem Elsie. Something between description and poetry - maybe a River!
DeleteLovely walk in the dark, glad you did not meet any police cars asking what were you doing pottering around at night. Also the writing is very good with you every step of the way.
ReplyDeleteThank you Thelma. Shirley warned me not to get picked up by the cops - as a burglar or hare courser!
DeleteThat's quite a nocturnal adventure!
ReplyDeleteI have done quite a lot of night cycling. For some reason I tend to imagine that I'm a member of the French resistance out to meet an SOE plane drop. Too many WWII comics when I was I kid, I expect.
No doubt that imagining motivates your pedalling. I guess it's cooler than a scorching summer's day in Sydney.
DeleteWell it's more when cycling through empty parklands than on roads. It's a special aspect of what I like to think of as the urban pastoral. There are places I'd go on a bike which I would probably be too nervous to venture into alone on foot.
DeleteOn a bike you have a getaway vehicle - in case you are chased by crazed drug addicts riding red kangaroos shouting "Long live Ricky Ponting!"
DeleteYou were brave to wander around those northern badlands at night.
ReplyDeleteI'm a tough guy JayCee. Nobody messes with me!
DeleteI have been on a few midnight hikes and watching Dawn come up.
ReplyDeleteIs Dawn your mistress? I guess she lives down in Durrus.
DeleteRuly noice potery. Truth or not, it reads well.
ReplyDeleteThe whole truth and nothing but the truth Andrew but I didn't really mean it to be poetry - just a different way of writing it down.
DeleteIt has been far to long, since I have gone for a long late night walk.
ReplyDeleteI can recommend it - especially if there is a full moon and a clear sky.
DeleteI'm not sure the last time I took a long walk that late at night. It's been years, for sure. I don't blame those women for being startled -- you must have been an unexpected sight, emerging from the gloom at that hour!
ReplyDeleteI probably looked like The Mad Axe Killer - except I was not wielding a bloody axe.
DeleteI can't remember when I was last out and about late at night, either. Even with our long summer evenings I don't feel tempted, especially not on my own.
ReplyDeleteEven for a six foot gorilla like me it felt somewhat scary.
DeleteYou described it very well, Neil.
ReplyDeleteThank you for reading it Ellen.
DeleteI enjoyed reading that. Thank you.
ReplyDeleteI am only here to entertain.
DeleteI love nightly walks, but since I am mostly so very tired by the time it is dark, I haven‘t done any significant walking by moonlight this year. Yours is perfectly described.
ReplyDeleteI hope it inspires you and maybe OK as well to ramble in moonlight.
DeleteBut why?
ReplyDeleteLovely evocative writing, Mr Pudding
Why not Kylie? It was stimulating to experience a walking route I know so very well in the dead of night. Something so different.
DeleteSomething special.
ReplyDelete